


A Taxi Full Of Roses

by FreshPrincessofCheyne



Category: DCU (Animated)
Genre: Arguing, Awkward Flirting, Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Out, Valentine's Day, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshPrincessofCheyne/pseuds/FreshPrincessofCheyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and Clark don't get along. That is, until they share a taxi on Valentine's day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taxi Full Of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I know Valentine's day was like three months ago, but I wrote this drabble back then and never posted it, so here it is, a couple months late, lol! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments on all my other works and the awesome support! I love you all, enjoy!!!

Bruce glanced at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently. This was why he never took a taxi. Or went to Metropolis. The traffic was worse than Gotham's, and so far he's spent fifteen minutes in it, when Bruce was scheduled to be at the Daily Planet ten minutes ago. Another thing he wasn't particularly fond of when visiting the city of lights, was the man in red and blue. They haven't been getting along and hadn't since they met. The longest they got along for was about a solid minute, where Superman punched down the lead wall to one of Lex Luthor's warehouses and gestured for Batman to enter first, like a gentleman, and that was it.

Rubbing the spot where his eye twitched, he took another peek at his watch. _Great_. Another four minutes in a car that smelled like burnt coffee and wet socks and old man. When another excruciating minute went by, Bruce decided he's had enough and debated kicking his own ass for not taking a helicopter. Before Bruce could move to the other side to get out on the sidewalk, the right passenger door opened and a bouquet of roses climbed inside, forcing Bruce to the very corner, bewildered. The bouquet of roses were so large they were in Bruce's face, and he swatted at them, grumbling while he did so.

The driver looked confused.

“To be honest, you would've been better off walking,” Bruce said, spitting a rose petal out of his mouth. “Trust me.” 

“Oh! I'm so sorry,” said the muffled voice, “I didn't know if somebody was already in the taxi. I, um” -he chuckled nervously- “I couldn't see.”

“I wonder why,” Bruce mumbled, pushing again at the roses. 

“It's just been crazy and I'm super late for work-” When the roses were put down on the middle seat, revealing the face behind them, Bruce immediately scowled, fingers curling on his thighs.

“ _No._ ” 

“No,” Clark mimicked. His eyes darkened. “Not you.”

“Out of all the taxis in Metropolis, you just so happen to stumble into _mine_?” Bruce said, trying to flatten the roses. Bruce was grateful Clark was here for one reason, that reason being that he couldn't smell wet socks anymore and instead smelled the mixture between the fresh roses and Clark; his scent sweet, like lavender, but also something strong and spicy at the same time, like pink pepper and cedar. 

“Out of all the cities you own, you visit this one?” Clark said, pushing his round glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. The taxi driver, an elderly man of peppered skin and wrinkles, began to shift in his seat, fingers tapping the steering wheel. This was going to be a _long_ ride.

“For your information, I don't _own_ cities,” Bruce retorted, “I own the companies that _run_ the cities. And why the hell can't you _fly_ to work-” Clark shoved the roses in Bruce's face, cutting him off as Clark glanced at the driver, relieved he didn't hear Bruce. Bruce choked and shoved the flowers away, making a face as he tried to remove the rose petals from sticking to his tongue. 

Clark stifled the urge to laugh. “I'm not some privileged jerk who can afford a jet whenever I want,” said Clark.

Leaning back into the seat, he glared. “Where'd you get that creative insult?” Bruce shot back as fast as a bullet. “Vocabularyfor dummies?” When Clark didn't respond, and crossed his arms over his chest, nearly burning holes in the passenger seat with his glower, Bruce added, “What's with the roses?”

“It's Valentine's day.”

Bruce stared at him with eyebrows arched. “And?” He asked, “What, the girl not accept them?”

“No, I got the rainbow roses and chocolates myself and thought _'hey, I'll buy myself this crap before my mother gets the chance to do it for the tenth goddamn year in a row'_ ,” Clark said, “Yes, _she didn't accept them_.”

When Bruce pushed aside his anger, he felt pity for Clark. If women only knew what kind of a strong man Clark was. At the thought, Bruce shuddered.

“ _Well_.” He cleared his throat, and pulled at his tie. He couldn't meet Clark's eyes. “Whoever didn't accept you _or_ the gifts clearly doesn't understand the kind of considerate, understanding, handsome man you are. You may not believe me when I say this but, they've missed out.”

Clark's face softened. From his ears to the tips of his fingers, his skin felt like fire. “Well, uh, thanks. Um, same goes to you, too,” Clark said, playing with one of the rose petals. It fascinated Bruce; Clark was one of the strongest men in the universe and he was so careful, _so_ gentle, he didn't even crease the petal of a rose. He envied Clark's control and wondered, only shortly, what he'd be like in bed and how much he'd have to hold back. Embarrassed with his own thoughts, Bruce looked away when he caught himself studying Clark's large hand, to the veins in his wrist and to his inner elbow, and past his massive bicep. He cleared his throat a second time.

“No one misses out on me,” Bruce said, regaining his confidence. 

Clark scoffed, posture stiffening.

“Especially Lois. She was a real-”

“Don't make me shatter your teeth.” Clark's voice was so full of venom that it made Bruce flinch. When the car moved forward a little further than last time, Clark said, “What are you doing in Metropolis anyway?”

“What's it to you?”

Clark turned in the seat, eyes flashing. “It's _my_ city.”

“I own half it's businesses.”

“I don't give a damn, Bruce.” He huffed in annoyance. “You can be an obsessive freak whenever you want but the second I even say _anything_ about you being here, you-”

“Let me stop you there, Clark. I'm sorry that I gave you the wrong impression, but I thought it was clear that _I don't care_.”

“What's your problem? Do you enjoy fighting with me? Because believe it or not, I don't. So do tell, and spare us both the dick measuring.”

“You're reckless,” Bruce began without skipping a beat. His eyebrows raised with a challenge. “You never think before you act. You rush into everything, risking yourself and everyone around you. You're stupid. Utterly stupid.”

“Is that the only argument you have? It's always the same thing with you. I'm either reckless or stupid or both.” Clark was yelling now and the driver was definitely beginning to look uncomfortable. “Well, what about _you_? At least everyone _knows_ what I plan to do, whereas with you, you'll go in and do it your way and all by yourself, leaving everyone in the dark. You may love shadows, Bruce, but all it does is create conflict for those of us who can't see in the dark.”

“Others should learn to adapt, then. Learning to adapt to your surroundings and the people around you is a critical part to building a team.”

“Don't you dare lecture me! You are _such_ a hypocrite!” Clark hollered. “When have you _ever_ shown an interest in the team? If I got paid every time you called yourself a “part-timer”, let me tell you, I wouldn't be living off a reporter's salary and I _wouldn't_ have to hop a cab.”

The taxi driver glared at Clark through the rear view mirror, pulling the car to a screeching halt. Clark winced and put a defensive hand in the air. “I don't actually mean it. I'm paying, no worries. Sorry.” Still, with narrowed eyes, the driver pulled forward.

Bruce's ignored Clark's encounter with the driver. “I've shown an interest in the team when I saw what they could do, if gone rogue. _That_ is why I keep an interest. The world wouldn't stand a damn chance.”

“You have to be the most arrogant, egocentric man I've ever met.” Clark's face was hot. His eyes flickered back to Bruce's, who was still staring like he was the one with laser vision. “Of course if that were to happen to you, going rogue, you wouldn't have a plan, would you?”

“I'm offended you don't know me that well, Kent. I plan for everything. _Everything_. What you and the others don't understand is that I don't have powers. I use the only thing I can, and that's my brain” -he tapped his temple- “I need to be prepared for every single outcome, because if I miss even one step, I could be killed.” He slapped his hands together. “Just like that. While you, you can afford a mistake or two. You don't have to worry about getting killed as easily. Which still leads me back to my main point. In doing so, you risk everyone around you just diving in like that.”

The taxi driver was staring at Bruce like he had two heads. What a weird morning.

Clark considered this. His voice was gentle but Bruce could hear the strain. “What _you're_ not understanding, Bruce, is the reason _why_ I do it. Have you ever thought about that?”

Bruce was silent.

“I do it because, like you said, I can afford a mistake. When I dive in like that, I know I can take whatever is thrown at me, while you can't. I know my limits, Bruce. You may not want to know yours, but you'll have to in order to know what you can and can't do.”

His eyes darkened. “I'm not the only one that ignores my limits, Clark.” His voice lowered. “And Darkseid's omega beams frying your ass black and putting you out of commission proves it.”

“If I become a pile of ashes, then so goddamn be it. I'd rather die than let an innocent die.”

Bruce said, “I am _not_ an innocent.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You did. Remember it was _me_ you were saving?”

“Like I said, I'd rather die than let someone else die.”

Bruce spun in the seat, eyes flaring. He jabbed Clark with his finger. “You act like your life has no worth and being _who we are_ , you _have_ to. If any of us wishes death, we can't get it because we're alive for a reason. That reason is to protect the people who are faced with death, but don't want it.” Bruce took a deep breath. “If you don't watch out for yourself, you'll die and without you, those innocents are going to die too.”

“I know!” Clark boomed, catching Bruce by surprise. He sunk back in his seat. “You think I don't know that?” 

Bruce heart pounded and Clark's jaw tightened. “This argument is always going to be endless, no matter what. The only thing I ask you is to just look at it from my point of view for once, please. I can handle so much and I know I can still do all the heavy lifting. There's always going to be a struggle and I'm ready to fight that struggle. That's all.”

Bruce huffed and crossed his arms, glare on the crowded street and the suited men and women making their way around with suitcases. After a few moments of Clark listening to Bruce's soft breathing and watching the rise and fall of his chest, he saw Bruce's face soften. He sighed and another couple minutes went by.

Eventually, Clark said, “Why do you hate me so much?”

Bruce chuckled sadly. “I don't hate you. You're everything I want to be all at once, Clark.” He sounded defeated. “Would you believe me if I said I envied you?”

“No.”

“I envy a lot about you.” A pregnant pause. “Except your stupid hair and that _infuriating_ curl.” Clark laughed in response, eyes crinkling. Bruce hid his face before Clark caught him smiling.

“I always wanted to know your secret to perfect hair.”

“Hint: about a truck's worth of gel,” Bruce said. Clark glanced at Bruce and Bruce glanced back, and before the two could help it, they threw their heads back and laughed.

“I'm sorry,” Clark said between fits of laughter, clutching his stomach, “it's hard to stay serious and argue when we're surrounded by pretty flowers and talking about hair gel.”

“I'm going to feel even more ridiculous than I already do when I say this, but,” said Bruce, wiping his eyes and still chuckling, “I haven't laughed like this in ages. Especially not on a Valentine's day.” After their laughter died down, Clark's eyes drifted to the chocolates in his lap and that was when he got an idea. 

He turned to Bruce, smiling. “Hey, Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Would it be uh, weird... if I gave you the roses? And we shared the heart-shaped chocolates?”

“Yes.” He paused, eyes on his shoes. Then, he looked up at Clark, the grin taking the taller man by surprise. “Totally weird.” He reached for the chocolates in Clark's lap, removed the hot pink ribbon around the box and once opened, popped one of the chocolates in his mouth. He handed it back to Clark, their fingers brushing. The two leaned more towards the middle as the taxi moved slowly through the streets, melting chocolates on their tongues and picking at the petals of the multicolored flowers.

“Roses are my favourite,” Bruce was saying as he stole another chocolate. “Especially the white ones.”

“I'll take note of that,” Clark said. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Planning to give me more accidental roses, Clark?”

He shrugged. He wondered why he felt comfortable with Clark, despite their feud. Bruce had a feeling there was no longer a feud between them. You usually didn't share chocolates with the person you couldn't stand. Or share a taxi with them. _Or give them flowers._

“Maybe. I think I'll even throw in the _accidentally_ _taking your taxi_ part, too.”

Bruce smirked. “As long as you get these chocolates again, I don't give a damn what you do accidentally.”

Bruce considered Clark's laughter another victory. “What if I...” Clark leaned closer and Bruce's eyes fluttered and all he could smell was that damn lavender and pepper. “What if I _kiss you_ accidentally?” Then, his lips were on Bruce's, tasting of rich chocolate. A large hand curved around the billionaire’s neck and Bruce breathed in deeply, like Clark was the air he desperately needed. Bruce pressed a hand flat on Clark's chest, his other arm wrapping around Clark's shoulders. They continued to kiss, long and deep and noisy, gnawing on each other's lips as the taxi moved along. When Bruce was practically in Clark's lap, hands sliding down Clark's torso, the driver honked the horn and yelled at another driver and that was when they separated, startled. Clark bit his lip as he stared at Bruce, all the sounds of the world flooding back like a tidal wave. 

“Well,” Clark breathed, cheeks tinted pink, lips a shiny red. Their pulses were like jackhammers. They didn't notice the driver, who's brown eyes flickered back and forth between them, puzzled. The driver still remained silent. 

“That was, _uh_...” Bruce trailed off, fingers ghosting along his own lips, the taste of chocolate lingering there.

“That was something.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce whispered. He was breathing heavier, fingers moving to grip Clark, pull him closer for more, tugging on his faded blue blazer. “I wouldn't consider that _just a kiss_ , though. More like making out.”

“I think I found a new way to put an end to our arguing,” Clark said.

“My argument still stands that you're an idiot.”

“That may be true, but now I'm an idiot who kissed Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce nodded approvingly. “I like that. It's got a nice ring to it.”

Smiling, Clark shook his head and offered the box to Bruce. “More chocolates?”

“Sure.”

“Happy Valentine's day, Bruce.”

“Happy Valentine.”

The silence lingered for a minute or two, until, “Be mine?”

“You're pushing it, Clark.”


End file.
